One Brief Night
by Doktor Al Meringue
Summary: Steve doesn't respond well to alcohol. Supposed to be humorous. Very short.


The night was young, the stars were bright, and the two men drinking copiously at the bar in Manhattan wanted nothing to do with being outside or looking at stars.

"Cheers!" Steve Rogers clinked his and Thor's glasses together. A delicate _tink! _followed, certainly not to be heard over the bumping music, and he downed the small shot in a single gulp. A hearty laugh; echoed by the Asgardian, then another round of shots was quickly ordered. This night was going to end badly, and somewhere, the both of them knew that.

It was a simple request. With the Tesseract back in the right hands, a temporary bridge to the other worlds had been reconstructed. Originally, it had been used to see Jane. Thor would visit, stay a day or two to let the bridge return to full capacity, and go back home. But, this time he'd gone to visit the lovely Jane Foster, she'd suggested a night out with the boys; you know, to catch up and whatnot.

Tony Stark already had plans with Pepper. He'd currently been busy with said "plans" when Thor had called, judging from the noise in the background. Clint and Natasha were doing something in Asia - or so recanted a very angry Nick Fury - and he also mentioned that Bruce was up in the Alps doing science things.

So, that left good 'ol Captain America: the embodiment of the American spirit.

Steve suggested a few drinks at a little hole-in-the-wall night-life bar in downtown Manhattan. Not one to refuse a drink, Thor agreed quickly.

The Norse God took a deep breath as his hand climbed higher up the tower. Steve bit his lip, unable to handle the pressure. His entire body quaked. "Don't knock it over!" He shrilled, white-knuckled fists clenched tightly around his suede brown jacket.

Thor's hand began to shake. The glass clinked and clanked on its brethren - and just as he was sure that their masterpiece was doomed, the shot glass fell into place at the top of the tower. "Perfect!" A structure that was ten shot glasses in circumference and almost fifteen high, it certainly was something to marvel at. Thor shoved it to the side and it all crashed to the ground.

Steve laughed heartily and slapped Thor on the shoulder. They motioned for another tray despite the American being on the verge of alcohol poisoning.

"You're such a good buddy, Thor," Rogers repeated for the fourth time that hour. "I mean it," he slung an arm over Thor, the smell of how much he'd had to drink washing over with every word. His breath could have peeled the paint off the walls. "You really are an amazing guy. Jane is so super lucky to have you. And god-land... ah, Asgard. Thor, I think I might need to go home." Steve felt his red cheeks, then his forehead, sudden worry marring his drunken features. "I don't feel so good."

Thor laughed, and stood, straightening his coat. "I think that you might need to go home as well. You humans cannot handle liquor as well as we Asgardians can." He threw a few bills on the counter. "Up we go, Captain." With one amazing sweep, Steve Rogers was thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They meandered through the sparse crowd of lazy dancers until they arrived at the exit door, which Thor proceeded to kick open with unnecessary force.

The night was chilly for early September. Every breath transformed into a cloud of smoke and without their jackets they were as good as done for. "Can you walk, friend?" Steve gave a weak nod, followed by a sneeze, and Thor set him down. The American wobbled and threatened to fall face first on the concrete. He needed assistance slipping his jacket on, and threatened to rip one of the sleeves off when he thrust his arm through it. Thor smiled. "Come, we shall "put you to bed", as you humans call it. Perhaps a cup of warm cow's milk would help you in your state?" He chuckled and took a couple steps forward - but suddenly stopped, realizing that the intoxicated one didn't follow.

"Turn around, you... jerk," came the slurred sudden words.

Though unstable and definitely unsteady, Captain Rogers glared daggers at Thor. His hands were balled into fists, and he stood with his legs apart as if he wanted to throw down right then and now.

Thor raised a brow and his smile became wider. "A jerk, am I? Rogers, I thought we were having the nicest time together." He turned to face the man fully. Steve's face was as scarlet as the stripes on the flag. His nostrils flared like a bull's. If Thor knew how to operate a camera, he would have taken a picture!

"Fight me," the other barked. "You think you're better than everyone else, just 'cause you're from another world. Well, you're NOT! I can take you. Put 'em up. Yeah, your fists," Steve growled when Thor jokingly looked at his hands like he'd never seen them before, "get 'em ready. I'll show you how Americans solve things."

Though the many shots Thor had consumed made him a tiny bit tipsy, he certainly wasn't like _Rogers _here, probably going to keel over with the slightest breeze. "You? Fight the _God_ of_ Thunder_? How your human swill makes a man brave!" He pounded his chest, smirking. "If you think that you may best me in an unarmed battle, then have at me! I am just as dangerous without my hammer as I am with her. I will even give you an advantage. One arm, behind my back." A hand disappeared behind his huge frame to demonstrate that he wasn't lying.

Steve obviously didn't care either way.

He dashed forward with the speed and grace of a one-legged horse and punched Thor square in the face.

Surprised that Steve was actually going to _hit _him, Thor stumbled backwards, catching himself just before falling. Gingerly, he touched his jaw - a little sting, he'd _certainly_ had worse, though as if to humor Rogers the skin was turning color. He looked up at wobbly Steve and laughed joyously. "Is that all you humans possess in one punch? Infants on Asgard hit harder than that!"

Rogers gave a mighty gurgle, rushing towards Thor and tackling him over. Dirt billowed into the air. "Down, Rogers, down!" The god crowed. A flurry of fists connected with pale flesh, another after another, building in intensity and force. Each hit only elicited more giggles: Thor was taking this lightly, in both connotations of the word. The punches didn't hurt that much, plus, Rogers was sloshed beyond belief. It was a wonder that he could even stand. Every protest was met with grunts. Whatever had possessed him was no longer Captain America _or _Steve Rogers.

Finally, he could feel his face becoming numb, not only from the cold but from the onslaught of fists. "Alright, enough is enough."

A mighty hand caught the captain across the face. Rogers flew off of Thor, slid through the dirt, then finally stopped just before hitting his head on the side of the bar. Thor picked himself up off the ground, still smiling, and walked over to Steve. "See? One hand, just like that. You are lucky we did not make a bet. You would have lost."

Rogers didn't reply.

He was knocked out cold.

To be expected of a frail-bodied Midgardian, thought Thor, picking his body up again and placing him in the previous hauling position. He could feel Roger's chest heave slowly up and down on his shoulder. At least he wasn't dead.

The darkness drew on as did Thor's words as he carried poor Rogers home, chattering on about things a petty human would never understand.

-xXx-

Steve Rogers woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, a nasty bruise, and somehow in his bed. After collecting himself and removing the wet towel from his head, he threw the covers off and steadied himself on fish legs.

The smell of breakfast meat beckoned him towards the kitchen. A blonde man was at the stove, tentatively prodding a slab of sausage in a pan. "Thor?" Croaked Steve, with a cough, "what happened last night?"

Steve fell into a chair and moaned when Thor responded with an ear-shattering laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Captain."

* * *

**I had to get it out of my head. **

**Damn it all I love the Avengers. **


End file.
